


Serpent of a Fractured Soul

by Wooly_Marmalade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Banter, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Machiavellianism, Magic, Not Canon Compliant, Not too dark, Slightly graphic depictions of violence, Vague Interpretation of Canonical Magic, political corruption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27469093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wooly_Marmalade/pseuds/Wooly_Marmalade
Summary: During his travels, Harry Potter stumbles upon a village that is tyrannized by a ruler who goes by the name of Voldemort—or as some whisper, the ‘Serpent.’ Distraught by the villagers’ hesitance to end the villainous totalitarian hold Voldemort has upon them, Harry challenges the man to a duel. To his surprise, Voldemort accepts easily, on the condition that he has the right to choose when battle takes place—within the timespan of one year.A very loose (and homosexual) interpretation of the 1989 Soviet film Убить Дракона, or perhaps of the original play Дракон by Evgeny Schwartz—i.e. “To Kill a Dragon” and “Dragon” respectively.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

An insidious sort of ache clutched at Harry’s heart—a pain not in the physical sense, but in the sense of harrowing unease that burrowed deep within one’s heart until it became too much to bear.

Where was he? Harry blinked out the grime in his eyes, sorting out his thoughts.

Last he could remember, he was on the outskirts of the Albanian Alps, travels guided by the rumors he heard of Rowena’s diadem residing there.

But here was not Albania, for Harry found himself covered with snow and a frost that was uncharacteristic of the temperate climate he was in before.

Harry’s head pounded, both from the strain of recollecting his memories and from the cloying dark magic surrounding the area he was currently in.

Dark magic, right. Harry’s memory jogged as he remembered a wave of it washing over him to the point of nausea when stepping inside a certain copse within the alps. Was the magic so potent that it knocked Harry out? But that would hardly explain why Harry found himself in a seemingly completely different part of the globe…

“Hello?” a woman’s voice alerted Harry that he was not alone, shocking him out of his thoughts.

He glanced warily at a woman, although he was slightly calmed by the gentle look in her eyes. Fiery red hair draped over slim shoulders, hair not too unlike what Harry was told his mother had—although he never met her.

“Are you alright?” she probed, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

Harry took a moment to examine his body; his torso was mangled with cuts and was half visible from the tears in his shirt, and there were stains of blood littering upon patches of skin all over his body. His hair was a mess as well, though that was hardly a surprise.

“Fine,” he coughed out gruffly. “Sorry, um, where am I?”

The woman tilted her head and let out a light laugh. “Well, where do you think you are?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Well, I _was_ in Albania. Not quite sure where I am now.”

“Ah,” the red-head’s face closed off, just after her eyes widened a bit in recognition. “I was thinking that might be the case but—” she broke off after smiling grimly. “Well, forgive me for hoping otherwise. He’s always such a cruel man to those who wish to take his things.”

No matter how much Harry tried, he couldn’t seem to interpret the meaning of the woman’s words. “Sorry, what are you on about?”

She shook her head. “It’ll make sense in time. I have to bring you to him, after all. Come with me?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “And if I don’t?”

She worried her lip between her lips and looked at him sadly. “Well, his magic is hardly kind to foreigners.”

Before Harry could bite out a protest, the ache in his chest expanded fiercely and he could feel the dark magic around him pulling him into an unwilling sleep.

* * *

“This is him then, Ginny? Good work.”

“Not at all, sire. I am grateful to be of help to you.”

Harry slowly tuned in the voices speaking nearby, groaning as he tried to sit up.

“Oh, are you awake then? Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

“Not my fault I was assaulted by dark magic,” Harry grumbled, finally opening his eyes, grimacing at the light.

“Well,” the voice drawled out, which Harry now identified as belonging to a handsome man with pitch black hair and mirth-filled dark brown eyes, “it was a bit your fault. Given that you were trying to steal my diadem.”

“Sorry, _your_ diadem?” Harry squinted. “Last I checked, Rowena wasn’t some pretty boy playing at being king by sitting upon a throne too big for his stature.”

It was true—the man was visibly royal, given his high-quality robes, but his features were so delicate that they hardly seemed to match with the oversized throne he was lounging in. Kings didn’t lounge, did they? Perhaps he was a prince, given how he seemed to be around only twenty years of age.

“The diadem could hardly belong to Rowena, given that she’s been gone for hundreds of years,” the man smirked. “No, it belongs to me. Finders keepers, yes? Rowena was never good at hiding things from me.”

“I hardly doubt she was hiding it from you specifically, you pompous git,” Harry mumbled under his breath, before being interrupted by the man speaking again

“That being said, I’m not _playing_ at being king, as you so eloquently put it. I _am_ king. Though I thank you for calling me pretty,” he smiled. “Not many know of where the diadem is hidden. Those who come close, therefore, get sent to me. The land surrounding the copse acts as a nasty sort of portkey, you see.”

Harry sighed. He just _had_ to go after the diadem, didn’t he? He couldn’t get Luna a more rustic gift, like a flower crown or something. She’d probably like that better, even; she was never materialistic.

“Right, well, clearly you’ve bamboozled me. I’ll leave the diadem in your trustworthy hands, _sire_. Perhaps you can just let me go on my merry way then?” Harry figured he probably shouldn’t have used such a venomous tone with someone who was apparently king, but the dark magic still surrounding him was grating his nerves and he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Well, that would hardly be fair, given that I’ve punished others for the same transgression with death. I wouldn’t be a very just ruler if I made exceptions based off whim.”

“Somehow, I get the feeling you’re hardly a very just ruler at all,” Harry snarked.

“Now, that’s a bit rude, isn’t it? You sure are horrid at pleading for life. Ginny,” the man called, turning towards the red-haired girl. “Tell me, do you think I am a just ruler?”

“C-certainly,” she stuttered out. “The best one we could ever hope for.”

“Now, Ginny,” the man smiled sharply, “it isn’t very good to lie. Why don’t you tell this nice man the truth?”

Ginny hesitated, before looking away and biting her lip. “Perhaps you are a bit cruel sometimes, sire. Not always very just. But you are still the best we could ever hope for.”

“Good,” he purred. “Do you hear that, dear seeker of diadems? I am very loved by my people.”

“Fear is hardly the same as love. I’ve been here less than a day and I can already see you’ve got this poor girl terrified.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of terror to spice up the relationship between a king and his people. Am I to believe the land you come from isn’t the same? Tell me, where are you from? And your name would be splendid, while you’re at it.”

“Why? So you know where to send your love letters and what name to address them to? Sorry, _sire_ , but you aren’t my type,” Harry retorted.

“I simply wish to know whose company I’m presently enjoying,” the man said, smiling serenely. “And I’m not the one calling the other pretty.”

Harry flushed slightly, scowling. “Wouldn’t it be more polite to introduce _yourself_ , first?”

“Indeed, forgive my poor manners. My name… Well, I’ve lived a long time, you see, and have gone by many. _Voldemort_ seems to be the one people call me these days. Or _Serpent,_ as they whisper behind my back when they think I am not listening. As for where we are, somewhere in the midst of Siberia, though I can’t quite recall where. We rarely leave our village, you see. Hard to keep a wizarding community safe without isolation.”

Harry thought that the ‘many’ names Voldemort had gone by were probably ones along the lines of _prat_ and _douchenozzle._

“… Siberia? It would take very powerful magic to create a portkey that would transport me so far.”

Voldemort smiled. “I am a very powerful man.”

“… And you’re speaking English, too.”

“Astute observation, my seeker. Your wit rivals Rowena’s own.”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I simply mean that if this were Siberia, wouldn’t you be speaking Russian? Or some other such language.”

Voldemort shrugged. “I have traveled to a great many places, and know a great many languages. I am fond of English, I suppose, because it is my native one. The local language of Siberia is hardly of concern to me; as I have said, we are an isolated village, and the language spoken will be whichever one I dictate it be.”

“Oh.”

‘Oh, indeed. Now, will you introduce yourself?”

“Um, sure,” he began, rather hesitantly. “I’m Harry. Just Harry. From England.”

“Just Harry? No surname?”

“No, well, I have one, but…”

“I’d very much like to know it, if telling me were of no burden to you.”

His surname… Well, perhaps it would be alright. After all, Siberia was very far from home. His father was a well-known man, but not so well-known as to be recognizable in some isolated village.

“It’s Potter. Harry Potter.”

Voldemort quirked an eyebrow. “Potter? As in, James Potter?”

Harry sighed. So much for wishful thinking.

“Yeah. He was my dad.”

“Quite a reputation to live up to. Is that why you were seeking the diadem? Hoping to attain glory to match his own?”

“No… I never even met the man, he died when I was young. The diadem was meant to be a wedding gift for a friend.”

Voldemort laughed. “Quite the prestigious gift, no?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Next time I’ll make her a flower crown. Less likely to get death threats from chauvinistic kings that way.”

“I won’t kill you,” Voldemort mused, tapping his chin. “I knew your father. The resemblance is uncanny, now that I think about it. He was every bit as steadfast as you seem to be. Same messy hair, as well.”

Harry flushed and patted his hair down self-consciously. It didn’t help, as always.

“So, what? You two were buddy-buddy and now you’re going to spare my life? I’ve always hated being shadowed by my dad’s legacy, but I’ll make an exception this time to accept the offer.”

“We were hardly friends,” Voldemort laughed. “Rather, I was the one who…” he trailed off. “Well, that’s a story for another time. You’re quite far from home, aren’t you? Why don’t you rest for a few days in my village before heading back?”

Harry glared suspiciously. “Right, like you’re not going to kill me in my sleep or something like that.”

“Trust me,” Voldemort’s eyes glimmered dangerously. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d hardly have to do it while you’re asleep.”

Harry scoffed. “Forgive me for not thinking you’re very intimidating with your luscious locks and slim torso. You look like you’d faint if you ran one mile.”

At that Voldemort’s grin grew wide—wider and wider until his lips disappeared and only sharp jagged teeth were left. His skin, too, began to stretch across his face until the soft delicate features instead became a disgusting thin, pale sheet of flesh, his nose becoming inverted until nothing was left but two slits. His brown eyes shimmered crimson and his beautiful black hair seemed to meld itself into his scalp until nothing was left but the hideous transparent outline of his skull.

“Well?’ Voldemort drawled, his voice no longer silky smooth, but rather a high-pitched grating sound that caused Harry’s ears to ring. “Perhaps I am a bit more frightening now.”

The dark magic exuding from the man crashed over Harry in a suffocating chokehold, and he once again saw black surrounding his vision.

The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was an eerie hissing that was not at all unlike a deadly serpent’s.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke to cold water dripping on his face. Squinting past the liquid falling into his eyes, Harry saw Ginny wringing a white rag above him.

He groaned. “That Voldemort is a bit of a prick, isn’t he? Couldn’t just be like, ‘Oh, I have a scary form, isn’t it spooky?’ He has to add the dramatic flair and use his dark magic to knock me out. For the third time.”

Ginny covered a giggle with her mouth, though her tone still sounded scolding. “You shouldn’t talk that way about him, you know. He’s a lot more powerful than I think you expect. I’m surprised you’re still alive with the way you spoke to him in the throne room.”

“I’ve met powerful men,” Harry sighed. “And I’ve met weak ones. It hardly matters to me. What’s of importance is if he is a good man or a bad one. And my impression of him seems to be leaning towards the latter.”

“He’s not so bad,” Ginny smiled. “We get on alright in this village. He knows how to keep the order.”

“And how exactly does he _keep the order_? Public executions?” Harry joked grimly.

Ginny hesitated to respond, and Harry felt his blood run cold.

“Seriously?” he rasped. “I supposed it’s not too uncommon… Like, hanging the criminals on death row, or something? It’s a bit outdated, but not… completely horrible.”

“Sir Potter…” Ginny said gently. “I know that you’ve come from far away, but you have to understand that the culture here is a bit different. Guilty, not guilty… It doesn’t matter to Lord Voldemort. He does as he wishes, and we respect his wishes.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Harry asked vehemently. “Why not leave? Is he forcing you here?”

“No one is forced to live under his reign, Sir Potter,” Ginny said calmly. “There’s simply nowhere else to go.”

“Nonsense! There’s plenty of places that are safe for wizards that aren’t ruled over by serpentine dictators. Come to England! Dumbledore is one of the wisest and fairest men I know. And call me Harry, Ginny. I hate the title Sir Potter. Makes me think of my father.”

“Lord Voldemort is fair,” Ginny insisted. “He may not be just, but he is fair… That is to say, what the sire hates more than anything is hypocrisy. So he doesn’t favor any one group in the village. Rather, he despises us all equally.”

Harry couldn’t help letting out an incredulous laugh. “And that’s a good thing?”

“Sure! Because it means we’re all equal in the end. I’ve heard stories about other countries, you know. They preach goodness, but then they have sexism, homophobia, racism… It’s not like that here. Sure, Lord Voldemort kills people sometimes. I think he eats them or something, actually… But it’s never because of who they are, it’s all simply chance.”

“And you’re not afraid to live in a village where your life could be taken away from you at _chance_?” Harry prodded.

“Life is always a matter of chance, Harry. At least here I won’t have to worry about it being taken away because of my fundamental nature.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but faltered. “Merlin, you sound like my friend Luna… She’s always saying these wise things and getting me tongue-tied,” Harry sighed. “Look, Ginny, it’s good that he’s… fair, in his weird tyrannical way. But couldn’t he just be all those good things, _and_ not kill innocent people?”

Ginny shrugged. “Can’t always have the best of both worlds.” She smiled. “Now, get your butt out of bed, _Sir Potter_. The king wants to meet you for breakfast.”

Harry moaned in misery and tried to bury his face in the pillow. It worked for about three seconds, before Ginny promptly splashed an entire bucked of cold water at him.

Rivulets of water fell from his soaked hair down his face, and he pursed his lips, vision blurry. “Thanks for that, Ginny, really. You’re a peach.”

“So I’ve been told,” she grinned happily.

* * *

“Harry! Pleasure to finally see you arrive for breakfast. A bit late, but I never expected you to be perfect.” Voldemort gazed at Harry curiously. “I also didn’t expect you to be quite so wet.”

“Yeah, wet hair doesn’t dry as quickly in Siberia, it seems. Sorry to say you’re going to have to eat your breakfast with my damp locks keeping you company.”

“No matter,” Voldemort snapped his fingers and Harry felt a small gush of magic surround his hair. It was dry not a second later. “Do sit down, Harry. Wouldn’t want you to get tired.”

Harry gaped. “You can do that? Just… plain magic. No spells or runes or anything like that?”

“Oh, my dear seeker,” Voldemort chuckled. “It’s hardly an accomplishment. I’ve been around almost as long as magic herself.”

“Right…” Harry drawled dubiously. “And you’re what, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-two centuries, perhaps,” he mused. “I would have thought yesterday’s performance taught you not to judge appearances so harshly, Harry.”

Harry laughed. “Right, you honestly expect me to believe you’re over two thousand years old? You might as well tell me you’re Salazar Slytherin, then.”

“Well…” Voldemort hummed. “I did say I went by many names, no?”

Harry stared at the man wide-eyed, thinking him mad. “You’re really going to sit here and tell me you’re actually Salazar Slytherin, in disguise.”

“Don’t be so daft, Harry,” Voldemort said, sipping his tea. “Who said anything about disguises? I was Salazar Slytherin then, and I am Voldemort now. Neither is less true than the other.”

“Uh-huh. And who else are you, then? Merlin, maybe?”

Voldemort chuckled. “Not Merlin, no. I’ve been called a great many names, Harry, it hardly does me good to recount them all. Satan, Devil, the snake who deceives the innocent… The religious muggles especially like those ones. The wizards like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who. Which are horrible names, really, if I do say so myself.”

“You’re telling me that you’re… Satan,” Harry said slowly, still feeling as though he was in a fever dream. Harry had lived among muggles several times during his travels, and was no stranger towards their religions.

“I’m not a red-horned demon living in a fiery underworld, if that’s what you mean,” Voldemort teased. “My dark magic makes people assume the worst in me; it’s palpable even to muggles, after all. The myths and fables they construct in the names they have attributed to me… Well, it’s out of my control,” he shrugged.

“You’re not… evil, though,” Harry stated firmly. “Not like how they portray you.”

“Oh? And you think you know me so well, my seeker?” the man’s eyes flickered crimson dangerously. “It would do you well not to be naïve in finding goodness where there is none.”

“I’ve talked with Ginny,” he protested. Merlin, what was he doing? Just a couple of minutes ago he was trying to convince Ginny the man was a complete tyrant, and now here he was trying to convince just the opposite to the man himself. “She likes it here. Mostly.”

“A dog will pledge loyalty even to an abusive master,” Voldemort said in response, pouring himself more tea after finishing the first cup. “Do not base your assumptions on me through the words of my servants.”

“Do you _want_ me to hate you or something?” Harry said exasperatedly.

“I do not want anything from you Harry, other than the pleasure of your company,” he smiled. “And for you to start on your breakfast.”

Harry grumbled but did as told. Eggs and sausage, along with a cup of tea. Very English of Voldemort.

“Tell me, do you have any name attributed to you that doesn’t sound completely pompous?” Harry asked, keeping his tone light enough so as to not be seen as mocking.

Voldemort tilted his head in thought. “Tom. Tom Riddle.”

“That’s… surprisingly mundane of you.”

“It’s the name my mother gave me,” Voldemort smiled wryly. “I despised it as a child—too plain. Too muggle. So I scorned it and went by Salazar instead. I’d like to think I’m a bit more mature now in my age; less prone to let something as meaningless as a name define me.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s _meaningless_ ,” Harry asserted. “There’s a lot of power in the name you choose for yourself. Tom, though, huh… _Tom_. It’s a nice name.”

“Is it? I’m indifferent to it nowadays, but it does sound quite lovely coming from your lips.”

Harry blushed. “You don’t mind, then? If I call you that? Voldemort is a bit of a mouthful.”

“I most certainly am, but I’m sure you could learn to take me in time,” Voldemort—Tom, said huskily.

Harry sputtered, spitting out his tea disastrously all over the clothes Ginny lent him. Tom dried them with a wave of his hand.

“You have… such proclivities, then?” Harry managed to squeak out, face burning red.

“I am a man of simple pleasures,” Tom said simply, smirking at Harry’s disheveled state. “The years have taught me that those pursued with a man provide particularly gratifying results.”

“Right. Right,” Harry said, head spinning. “Well, I’m very flattered, Tom, really, but I’m not—”

“Not homosexual? Such a shame,” Tom tsked. “Perhaps I could convince you otherwise?”

“Not one for casual relations,” Harry finished. “I’m a bit of a romantic, Tom. And it would be unwise of me to pursue such a relationship with a dictator of dubious morals.”

Tom spent a few moments tapping his fork against his lip. “I suppose that’s fair. You would tell me if you changed your mind, yes?”

“Sure, Tom,” Harry lied. “I’d tell you.”

“Brilliant,” Tom grinned toothily. “With those important matters out of the way, perhaps you’d like to take a tour of the city? Ginny can show you around.”

“Oh—not, not you?” Harry said, feeling strangely disappointed.

“I am a busy man, Harry. Not much time for dalliances. Perhaps tomorrow, when I am not so swamped in reports to write.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry smiled. “I’ll… see you later, then?”

“Indeed,” Tom said warmly. “Goodbye, my seeker. Enjoy the village.”

Harry stumbled out of the dining room then, back to his room where Ginny was waiting. He collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling for a few seconds before cursing.

“Oh, bloody hell, he’s such a git—but why did he have to be such a handsome one?”

* * *

“I’m surprised, you know,” Ginny said as she led Harry through the marketplace, greeting the locals as she went. “He’s hardly so amicable to the rest of us.”

“It’s a bit hard to see him as a cruel lord when he looks so… delicate, I suppose.”

“He’s not often like that with us,” Ginny looked at him curiously. “Usually he goes by his other form—the horrid one he showed you in the throne room. It’s why we call him the Serpent.”

“Yeah? It’s not ‘cause he’s a slimy bastard?”

Ginny didn’t laugh, as Harry hoped she would. “You really shouldn’t speak that way in public. I know you mean no harm, and Lord Voldemort himself doesn’t seem to mind, but… You wouldn’t want the villagers to hear.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. “It’s not like they don’t know what sort of man he is, right?”

Ginny sighed. “We respect him here, Harry. I know you have your misgivings, but he’s… He’s our lord. And we treat him as such.”

Harry frowned. “All right. I’m sorry, Ginny. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Ginny smiled warmly. “Not at all, Harry. You’re a good man. Come on, I’ll show you the—”

The rest of her sentence was cut off by a scream coming from the center of the marketplace. Harry instinctively went to follow it, but was stopped by Ginny’s hand grasping his forearm tightly.

“Don’t go, Harry,” she said firmly. “It’s none of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” Harry repeated incredulously. “There might be someone getting hurt!”

“It is what it is, Harry. Just forget about it.”

Harry scoffed and tore his arm away from her, ignoring the pain in her eyes, following the source of the sound. He was met with the scene of a man, severely bruised and bleeding, being held up by two guards, who were sneering at him.

“Why don’t you bark like a dog, hmm?” one of the guards probed, elbow jamming into the man’s chest viciously. “It would only be fitting for someone like you.”

The man resisted, before being harshly stabbed in the toe by one of the guard’s spears and howling.

“Oh, a howl! Even better,” the guard praised, laughing.

To Harry’s dismay, the villagers seemed to laugh along as well. Searching their faces for any sort of pity, any sign that they were being forced to play along, Harry found nothing but unadulterated amusement at the cruel spectacle in front of them.

Harry couldn’t stand another second of it, bile quickly rising in his throat. His weapons were gone, likely hidden by Ginny while he was unconscious, but he still had his magic and physical strength.

“Get the _hell_ away from him,” Harry hissed, walking up to the guards and shoving at them. “Do you have no sense of shame? No sense of camaraderie of one of your own? What in Merlin’s name are you playing at?”

The silence that befell the marketplace was almost painful, and Harry found himself twitching when an uneasy chuckle escaped one of the villagers.

“Are you… new here?” the guard asked hesitantly, confused as if _Harry_ was the strange one there, not him who was physically and mentally tormenting a villager.

“For your information, I am one of _Lord Voldemort’s_ personal guests. Would you mind explaining to me what you’re doing?” Harry growled.

The guards dropped the man they were holding immediately, causing him to fall down on his knees roughly, eliciting another whine of pain. Harry rushed over to his aid, only to be swatted away by the man angrily. The guards kneeled at Harry’s side.

“Our sincerest apologies, sire. We did not mean to offend you. We apprehended this man under our lord’s orders, you see. Perhaps you are not aware of our culture?”

“ _Culture,_ ” Harry spat. “What culture could possibly compel you to publicly humiliate a man of your own? Is he guilty in some way? Has Voldemort insisted you torture him to atone for his crimes?”

“He… is innocent, sire,” the guard said in confusion. “We all are; none of us would dare to rebel against our king.”

“Then what possible reasons do your actions have?” Harry insisted, growing frustrated with the lack of understanding from the other man.

“The king demands a sacrifice, as always,” the guard explained slowly. “He allows us to treat the offering in any way we wish. It is all in good fun—ask the prisoner himself.”

Harry turned incredulously towards the man who was still lying on the ground, caressing his bleeding toe gently. He looked up at Harry and nodded.

“It is of the greatest honor to be chosen by the king,” he affirmed. “There is no shame in being tortured in his name.”

Harry wanted to throw up. He wanted to leave. He felt tears gathering in his eyes. This was all so wrong, wrong, wrong. Was Voldemort’s magic brainwashing them? How could they possibly see nothing despicable in their actions? He looked towards the crowd to be met with the guard’s confusion mirrored on the faces of the villagers.

Harry needed to leave.

He spotted Ginny and rushed over to her, clutching her arm so hard she winced. “Take me to Voldemort,” he said lowly. “Now.”

“Harry…” she began. “I tried to tell you—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Harry spat out darkly. “Take me to him.”

Ginny nodded hesitantly, and led the way.

* * *

Harry slammed into Tom’s chambers roughly, door slamming against the stone walls. The man looked up angrily, only for his features to morph into confusion when he realized who the intruder was.

“Harry? Is something the matter?” he asked worriedly.

“Is something the matter?” Harry scoffed loudly, walking towards the other man resolutely, slamming his hand down on the table in front of him. “Are you aware, _Tom_ , of what goes on in your village?”

“…I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Harry. Quite a lot goes on in my village,” Tom said slowly, as if trying to calm a riled child.

“As in the _spectacle_ your guards performed. You know, the _torture_ they were inflicting on the man you apparently told them to subdue?” Harry hissed.

“Oh,” Tom’s eyes widened in realization. “Sure. What about it?”

Harry gaped. “What about it? What about it? Are you kidding me right now, Tom?”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “I hardly see what my guards’ choice of entertainment has to do with me, Harry. I simply asked them to bring the man to me before nightfall; what they do with him before that is none of my concern. If you have issues with it, you should take it up with them.”

“You—you,” Harry sputtered out, betrayal rising up within him in waves. “You _bastard_. I trusted you! I assured myself you weren’t as cruel a man as people said you were!”

Tom’s face closed off, eyes glaring at him coldly. “And _I_ told you not to make assumptions about me. I never said I wasn’t a cruel man, Harry. It’s not my fault you refused to listen.”

Harry suddenly felt his fight drain out of him, limbs going limp in resignation.

“You did, didn’t you? It’s my fault for wanting to see the good in you. Of course, it’s always _my_ fault…” he mumbled.

Tom stayed silent, watching Harry warily.

“Duel me,” Harry stated firmly, after a few moments of silence.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Duel me, Tom. I want you dead, but have enough lingering respect for you to do it properly. Fight with me.”

Tom said nothing, eyes glimmering with something calculating before shrugging.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Harry stumbled, slightly caught off-guard. “Just like that?”

“No,” Tom confirmed, smiling. “Not just like that. I have a condition.”

“… Alright,” Harry said warily. “What is it?”

“I have the right to choose when the battle will occur,” Tom proclaimed.

Harry was quick to nod. “Okay. Seems fair.”

“…Within the timeline of one year,” Tom finished.

Harry sputtered in indignation. “What?! No! No way am I letting you run free for an entire year!”

“I never said the duel would take place in a year, Harry,” Tom said reasonably. “Simply that it has to occur any time before that. I could request it tomorrow. Perhaps next Sunday.”

“…Why a year, then?” Harry asked, exasperatedly.

Tom shrugged. “I said it this morning, no? I am a busy man with a village to run. I’m not entirely sure when I’ll be able to make time for you.”

“ _Make time for me?_ This isn’t a _date_ , Tom, I’m challenging you to a fight to the death!”

“The two used to be quite similar back in my day,” Tom nodded wisely. “Besides, Harry, it’ll do you some good. You can get to know the villagers better. Learn some more about our culture.”

_Culture_. There was that word again. Harry _hated_ it. Hated the way the villagers used it to excuse deplorable acts. Hated the way Tom said it casually as if the culture he fostered was not one of pain and suffering.

“Fine,” Harry spat. “Whatever. I accept. As long as you know that I _will_ kill you, Tom. I swear on it.”

Tom grinned, teeth akin to a snake’s fangs about to bite into its prey.

“I’ll look forward to it, my darling.” 


	3. Chapter 3

When Harry stormed back to his guestroom, Ginny was there waiting for him, sitting on the edge of his bed wringing her hands nervously.

“Ginny,” he said curtly. She flinched at his harsh tone.

“…Are you mad at me?” Ginny asked quietly, looking up at him.

Harry’s cold gaze faltered under that of Ginny’s pleading one. “I’m not mad,” he said, averting his eyes.

“Really?” she chuckled grimly. “Because it sure sounds like you are.”

“I’m not mad,” he asserted. “Not at you. I’m just—” Just what? How could he explain to Ginny the way he felt he couldn’t trust her anymore; the way her complacency during the incident in the village turned her from a friend to a stranger in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he finished weakly. “I need time to think.”

Ginny nodded, swallowing. “Please understand, Harry, it’s just our—”

“If you tell me it’s just your _culture_ again, I’m bringing out the cold-water bucket and splashing it on you this time.”

That brought out a genuine laugh from Ginny, which further eased the tension Harry still had. Everything about this was… strange. What happened in the market-place was wrong, Harry could see that, but how could he manage to help anyone in the village when they were as good as brainwashed?

Ginny shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t understand it, Harry. I know that what we do is… cruel. But what else are we supposed to do?”

“… Not torture people, maybe?”

“We don’t mind the torture, Harry. Neither seeing it nor receiving it. It… unites us, in a way.”

“Couldn’t be united by Quidditch like the rest of us, huh?” Harry mumbled under his breath.

Ginny seemingly heard it anyways though, because she laughed and said, “Quidditch is banned here, actually.”

Somehow, that seemed to be the most shocking news Harry had heard all day. “Excuse me?! Why on earth is Quidditch banned?”

“Lord Voldemort hates it. Doesn’t even allow us to use brooms to sweep, says to do it magically.”

“Merlin, Tom has deeper issues than I thought,” Harry said, aghast. “Not liking Quidditch? I can’t tell if that’s better or worse than his proclivities towards murder… No, wait, murder is definitely worse. What am I saying? Ignore me.”

“Tom?” Ginny repeated querulously, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Who’s Tom?”

“It’s—” Harry began, before faltering. Tom said the name didn’t mean anything to him anymore, but that didn’t mean it was Harry’s to spread. Not that he deserved any of Harry’s concern, the nasty git. “It’s nothing, Ginny, don’t worry about it.”

She nodded reluctantly. “So…” she drawled. “We’re cool?”

Harry laughed quietly. “Yeah, Ginny, we’re cool.”

She smiled, cleaning up a bit before leaving him alone. Harry laid down on his bed, closing his eyes, thinking. His mind was a mess. Was it okay to act so nonchalant? He felt suffocated, then, by his inability to do anything in the situation. His emotions fluctuated between sizzling anger at one moment and tired resignation another.

He wasn’t even mad at Tom—not really. After all, he was right, wasn’t he? He wasn’t forcing the guards to torture whoever he asked them to bring to him. Could he really blame an entire village’s actions on one man?

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. No, if he started doubting himself, he would become as complacent as the villagers. Tom wasn’t innocent, no matter how much Harry wanted him to be. He had the ability to foster a community of peace, yet instead he chose to propagate fear and violence.

What happened to Tom, Harry wondered, that made him so apathetic to the world around him? Was he born that way? Was he shaped that way from his circumstances? There was still so much Harry didn’t know about the king.

He wondered if he was too harsh earlier, in Tom’s chambers. He belatedly realized that he promised to kill the man. He laughed.

He could admit that there was an inexplicable… draw he felt towards the man. A sense of ease he felt talking with him that Harry had never experienced before.

Even before, when Harry was filled with anger towards him, he felt there was an honesty he could show the man that Harry was hesitant to show anyone else. He felt he could lay himself bare to the man and feel comfort in knowing he was not alone.

But that was the core of the issue, wasn’t it? That Harry was so prone to trust the king despite all the signs pointing to him being cruel. It was why he felt so hurt earlier, when feeling betrayed by the man’s lack of concern towards his village.

Harry thought back to his own hometown, under Dumbledore’s reign. Dumbledore was a fair king. A good one. He was the one who took care of Harry when his father was killed somewhere while off on his ‘quests.’

Dumbledore had blood on his hands; Harry was aware of that. The man was not afraid to sacrifice himself, or others, if he deemed it good for the land. But he was a king, wasn’t he? He had to make difficult decisions—ones that went beyond common morality.

But Tom… He didn’t seem to have any morals at all. And Harry would kill him if necessary, he knew that. Just as Dumbledore taught him, personal feelings could never get in the way of the greater good.

Harry felt his eyes drooping, tired from the messy thoughts circling around his head. Before he fell asleep, his mind kept repeating the memory of Tom calling him _darling_.

* * *

When he awoke, he was once again ushered to breakfast by Ginny.

“Won’t it be awkward?” Harry groaned. “I threatened to kill him last night, you know.”

“I’m not even going to process what you’ve just said,” Ginny stated firmly, pushing him towards the door. “You’re late for breakfast for the second day in a row, and I’m told the sire is not one for tardiness. Hurry up!”

“Fi-ine,” Harry drawled, pouting while heading towards the dining room. There, sipping on his tea as calmly as he did the day before, was Tom.

“Good morning, Harry,” Tom smiled. “Lovely to see you this morning. Though it’s a bit too close to noon for my liking.”

“Yeah, I, uh, overslept. Sorry about that.”

“No matter. You are my guest, after all. I’d hardly want to impose on your comfort.”

“…You sure are casual about this,” Harry said warily.

“Oh? What’s there not to be casual about, my seeker?”

“Us planning to kill each other some time during the span of a year, maybe?”

“Oh, that,” Tom waved his hand flippantly. “Like I said before, hardly more than a love confession back in my day.”

“ _Back in your day_ , you say… Are you still insisting on that whole… Salazar Slytherin thing?”

Tom tilted his head. “I wasn’t aware you didn’t believe me. Why would I lie?”

“Something tells me lying is second-nature to you, Tom,” Harry said wryly.

“Perhaps,” Tom conceded. “But I haven’t lied to _you_ , Harry. Not once since you’ve arrived.”

Harry wanted to protest, but found he couldn’t remember any instances proving his point. It just seemed so _off_ to Harry, the idea of Tom being honest, even if only to him.

“Whatever,” Harry rolled his eyes, drinking his tea. Mm, Earl Grey. Lovely.

“Is there any way I could make you believe me?” Tom pondered. “I’d hate for you to think I was deceiving you.”

“My opinions of you could hardly get any worse,” Harry fibbed, “but if you can somehow prove you’re centuries old, that’d be something. Perhaps you have hidden wrinkles?”

“If there are ones in places I can’t see, you’re more than welcome to investigate,” Tom smiled. “But, hm, let me think…”

Harry ate his breakfast slowly before Tom suddenly made a quiet ‘Ah!’ sound and reached for something within his robe’s inner pocket. He pulled out a locket, one with the unmistakable engraving of a snake in the form of an ‘s.’

“Is that… Slytherin’s locket?” Harry gaped.

“It’s _my_ locket, yes. You’re welcome to take a look at it.”

“No, no, I couldn’t…” Harry said, even as he began to reach his hands towards it and let Tom drop it into his hands. It seemed to pump magic through his skin, into the very veins in his palms. Harry was in awe.

“Believable?” Tom asked, smirking.

“I mean, you could’ve—” Harry sputtered, slightly reeling from the possibility that Tom might, in fact, be a lot older than he expected. “You could’ve just found it, like you did with the diadem.”

“Oh, please,” Tom rolled his eyes. “I can assure you that if I were to ever hide one of my possessions, I’d do a much better job of it than _Rowena_.”

Harry was silent, desperately trying to find some semblance of sanity to hold on to.

“You don’t like Quidditch,” he blurted out. “Ginny told me.”

“Oh? Were you two talking about me?”

“Unfortunately, you did come up in conversation,” Harry snarked. “Why don’t you like Quidditch?”

Tom scoffed. “It’s a mindless game for buffoons. Flying around on a cleaning utensil while chasing after some floating contraption. It’s inane.”

Harry pondered this for a moment, before widening his eyes in realization. “You’re bad at it, aren’t you? That must be it! Tom Riddle, Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin—the devil himself—is horrible at Quidditch!”

Tom scowled. “There’s nothing to be _good_ or _bad_ at in Quidditch. It’s all just some… meaningless activity. I have better ways to spend my time.”

“Oh, like what? Crying over the fact that you suck at Quidditch?” Harry grinned.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You know, if I wasn’t so fond of you, I’d have you executed.”

“I’d just fly away on a broom,” Harry stuck his tongue out. “That way you wouldn’t be able to catch me.”

Tom sipped his tea aggressively.

“Merlin, you sure do drink a lot of that, don’t you? What is that? Your third cup this morning?” Harry said, slightly revolted.

Tom’s mouth opened slightly in shock. “ _You_ enjoy horrible sports where wizards risk their lives just to chase after some ball, and you’re going to judge _me_ for drinking too much tea?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m just saying. It’s a bit weird, that’s all.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having an appreciation for the finer things in life!” Tom said, scandalized. “If you’re so offended by it, I’ll take your tea away!”

Harry laughed loudly. “So this is what ruffles your feathers, huh? Not death threats or insults to your moral character, but calling you out on a tea addiction?”

“You are a horrid man, and I have no clue why I keep you around,” Tom huffed.

Harry felt something ease in his chest. The logical side was yelling at him not to let his guard down, not to get too relaxed, but the emotional part of him was urging him to keep making Tom flustered—to keep pulling emotions out of him Harry was sure the king rarely showed.

Perhaps it wasn’t just Harry who felt honest around the other man; perhaps Tom felt the same way.

* * *

“So,” Harry drawled, after their breakfast was gone and their bickering faded away. “Are you going to show me around today? Or are you still _too busy?_ ”

“I do hate the way you insinuate I’m not actually doing any work. Do you think it’s easy to run a village?”

“You hardly seemed to do anything yesterday, when the guards were causing mayhem,” Harry rolled his eyes. For some reason, the memory wasn’t as painful to recall now. He was still angry, but less at Tom and the villagers, and more at the inevitability of the situation itself.

Tom huffed. “Every community needs a scapegoat, Harry. Someone on the lower ends of things to make everyone else feel more secure in where they are.”

“Where I come from, we make do quite well without any unnecessary torture,” Harry scoffed.

“Oh?” Tom prodded. “Really? You have no homeless, then? No one struggling to scrape up enough money to live another miserable day?”

Harry faltered. “We have homeless, but that’s hardly to do with the way we run things. It’s simply… the economy, or something.”

“The economy, Harry, is regulated by those in power,” Tom said coolly. “And I’m sure if your king wished, he could spare some of his riches for those who are in need of it. _My_ village has everyone and their families comfortable in a warm home. The occasional organized killing simply reminds them to treasure what they have.” 

“Dumbledore does the best he can,” Harry said hotly, feeling unsettled from Tom’s words.

Tom twitched. “Dumbledore? That old fool is still alive, then? Shame.”

“You know him?” Harry asked in surprise.

“ _Knew_ him is perhaps more accurate. I come from England, Harry, and he was meddling in the nation’s affairs long before you were even born. If he wasn’t there, I might have stayed in my hometown, rather than settling down in Siberia.”

“…You don’t like him, then?” Harry extrapolated.

“I _despise_ him, Harry,” Tom growled. “The one thing that grates my nerves more than anything else is hypocrisy, and that old geezer was _full_ of it.”

“He’s only human,” Harry protested. “He makes his mistakes, but he works hard for the people.”

“ _Human_ ,” Tom scoffed. “I wonder what that’s like.”

“…You’re human too, Tom, you know that?”

“Am I?” he said lightly. “I’ve been informed by many that I’m quite the opposite. Inhumane. Evil. Cruel.”

“You’re not _evil_ , Tom. You’re just…” Harry struggled for words, “a bit special. You just need a bit of guidance, that’s all.”

“And that guidance is to come from your sword piercing my chest? I must say, you sure are singing quite a different tune than last night, Harry,” Tom shook his head mockingly, before dropping his voice to a cold octave that made Harry shiver. “Your precious Dumbledore has tried to give me his _guidance_ too many times for my liking. I’d appreciate it if you spared me the piousness.”

Harry frowned. What had Dumbledore done to Tom that caused him to feel such vehement hate? It was true that Harry tended to be more lenient towards the mistakes of those he cared about, but Dumbledore had always seemed to him a man who was unabashedly _good_. He was all Harry aspired to be like when he was younger.

Perhaps sensing Harry’s internal turmoil, Tom changed the subject. “Enough talk of men who are neither here nor there. You asked me if I would show you around today, yes? Then, I might as well. Get dressed a bit warmer, Harry. We’re going out.”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry lasted approximately ten minutes before losing his nerve.

“Bloody hell, Tom, it’s like negative twenty-five degrees! Are you trying to kill me, is that it? Is this part of the duel?” he said, as he trudged through the copious amounts of snow gathered on the ground. “I’m freezing!”

Tom stopped walking, boots making deep imprints in the snow, looking back at Harry curiously. “Oh,” he let out, tilting his head. “Do you not know any heating magic?”

Harry gaped. “Excuse me? Heating magic? We’re not all Salazar freaking Slytherin, Tom! If I do magic, I have to have a wand, for starters, which I found out when changing this morning was gone!”

“A wand,” Tom drawled. “How dreadfully dull.”

He waved his hand and Harry was filled with a surge of warmth that quickly washed away any remnants of the previous frost.

“You couldn’t have done that in the first place?” Harry grumbled, sighing in relief at feeling his blood rush warmly through his body.

“I could hardly have been expected to know your magic was so… boring,” Tom shrugged.

“Boring! It is _not_ boring! And give me back my wand, you twat! Did you have Ginny take it?”

“It’s probably back at the clearing in the Albanian alps,” Tom mused. “My portkey was designed as such to leave behind any potentially dangerous items on your person before bringing you here.”

Harry gasped in outrage. “You’re saying my wand is just lying on the ground in the middle of some copse?! What if someone steals it?”

“I can hardly imagine anyone wants your shoddy wand, Harry,” Tom sighed. “But if you want, we can apparate to get it later. After my little tour, of course.”

“I can’t apparate half-way across the globe, Tom—” Harry began to argue before cutting off at Tom’s raised eyebrow. “But you can, right. Obviously. Where are we going, anyways? Haven’t we passed the outskirts of the village by now?”

“It’d hardly be a surprise if I told you,” Tom smiled.

Harry frowned but didn’t protest. After all, he trusted Tom.

…He trusted Tom? Merlin, what was wrong with him? He groaned aloud.

“Is something the matter?” Tom asked, glancing at him strangely.

“I’m just contemplating my life choices,” Harry murmured. “I should have just gone with a flower crown…”

“A flower crown? What are you…? Oh, right, you said you were searching for the diadem as a wedding gift, yes?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, brightening slightly at the memory of his friend. “Her name’s Luna. She’s pretty great.”

“…And you two are close, then?”

“Yeah! We’ve been hanging out since we were kids. I don’t get to see her as much as I like nowadays because of my travels, but I wouldn’t miss her wedding for the world.”

“Hm.”

Harry squinted. “What are you being all pouty for? Are you jealous or something?”

“Perhaps a bit,” Tom said simply.

“Tom! I just said she was getting married!”

“It’s not as if polygamy is frowned upon,” Tom said rationally.

“No, Tom, c’mon,” Harry whined. “Luna’s like… my sister, or something.”

“Well,” Tom said, “historically, there have been many reported cases of incestuous—”

“Stop!” Harry yelled. “Merlin, stop, Tom, I don’t want to hear the end of that sentence. I love Luna, but not like that,” Harry shuddered.

“Mm,” Tom hummed, seemingly appeased.

“It’s not like you have any reason to be jealous, anyways.”

“Oh?” Tom said, something hopeful glimmering in his eyes.

“Mhmm,” Harry affirmed. “Because there’s no chance of anything happening between you and me in the first place. So any possession on your part would be frankly meaningless.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “You keep telling yourself that, _my seeker_. Anyways, we’re here.”

Harry focused into his surroundings then, noticing that they had stopped in front of a stone building. It was relatively small, so Harry could only assume that it was either a shed of some kind, or it led underground.

“Go on,” Tom smirked. “Go inside.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, walking up towards the building but not seeing any sort of entranceway. The inside was blocked by four walls of impenetrable stone.

“I can’t,” Harry said, slightly annoyed as if he knew Tom was about to do something pretentious. “There’s no door.”

Tom smiled wider then, metaphorical feathers puffing out. He sauntered over to the stone, glancing over at Harry slyly, and then started hissing.

Literally hissing. Like a snake, or something. Harry thought Tom might have finally lost his mind. It was probably all of the tea.

Suddenly, the stone rumbled and started parting slowly, revealing an entranceway that did, indeed, lead underground.

“This, Harry,” Tom said smugly, “is the _Chamber of Secrets_.”

Harry stared at him for a while, before breaking out in laughter. After seeing the look of scandalized shock on Tom’s face, he only laughed harder.

“Merlin, Tom,” he wheezed out in between giggles. “You looked so _smug!_ ” He lowered his voice in a mocking imitation of Tom’s voice, “This, Harry, is the _Chamber of Secrets_.” Harry laughed heartily again. “Were you preparing that line the whole way here, Tom? You even _hissed_ at it!”

Tom frowned, pouting. “Fine then. Let’s just go back, if you’re not interested.”

Harry was about to make another joking remark, before glancing at Tom’s face and noticing a flash of genuine hurt in his eyes. He felt a stab of guilt in his chest.

“Oh, hey, Tom,” Harry said gently, coming up to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. It’s really cool, yeah? I’m super impressed.”

Tom scoffed, avoiding his eyes. “You don’t have to lie for my sake, Harry.”

“I’m not lying,” Harry soothed. “Merlin knows I could never do magic like that. The Chamber of Secrets, you said? Come on, show me around. I’m honored you’d show me.”

Tom waited unbudgingly, still starting at the ground, and Harry came closer to him until they were standing toe-to-toe in front of each other. Slightly awkwardly, Harry pulled him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry, Tom. Don’t pout. I think it’s really cool, yeah?” Harry murmured into Tom’s hair, belatedly noticing that he was a few inches taller than the other man.

Tom stood rigidly for a second, before loosening up and nuzzling his head into Harry’s chest. “I can talk to snakes, you know,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” Harry cooed indulgently.

“Yeah,” he pouted. “I wasn’t just hissing random sounds. I was speaking Parseltongue. I was born with it.”

Harry brought his hand up to bury itself in Tom’s hair, carding through it gently. A part of his mind wondered if this was too intimate a gesture, but when Tom brought his arms up to tightly grip at Harry’s back, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. “That’s awesome, Tom. I’m impressed.”

Tom nodded into his chest, not letting go, and the two of them stood like that for a while, letting the snow pile atop of their shoulders. Harry wondered if this was something akin to happiness. Finally, after a few minutes, Tom slowly pulled away, using his magic to brush away the snow littering their bodies.

Tom cleared his throat, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, let’s go then.”

Harry smiled, some feeling he didn’t want to examine lodged in his heart, and nodded.

* * *

Heading down the staircase, Harry was once again slightly in awe by the way Tom almost subconsciously lighted the torches on the walls, bringing fire to life without even a wave of his hand. Despite Harry’s earlier giggle fit, Harry truly was impressed by the sheer amount of magic prowess Tom seemed to possess. There were rumors, of course, of Salazar’s affiliation with snakes, but to know that Tom could even speak with them was incredible. Harry wondered if he acted as haughty even with the serpents.

Speaking of serpents, as Harry and Tom progressed down the staircase, a hissing sound Harry thought he was imagining gradually got louder until Harry was sure it was getting closer.

“Um, Tom?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Harry?” Tom asked calmly.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what, darling?”

“Um… hissing? Like, really loud, threatening hissing?”

“Oh, that,” Tom said, walking on in silence for a few moments before answering. “That’s the basilisk.

Harry choked on his spit. “Excuse me?!”

“A basilisk is—”

“I know what a basilisk is, you git! I also know that if it even looks at me, I’ll be bloody killed!

“Not _it_ , Harry. She. Her name is Nagini.”

“Oh, right, I’m _so_ sorry. If _she_ looks at me, I’ll be dead!”

“You won’t be dead, Harry, don’t be silly. I’ll be here to keep her in check.”

“Right, because you can just command giant basilisks at will,” Harry scoffed.

Tom looked at him coolly, and Harry felt lightheaded.

“Right,” Harry mumbled. “Right, of course you can.”

Tom stopped suddenly, causing Harry to bump into him. “We’re here.”

Harry rubbed his nose and looked up to see a great chamber, lit with a really quite lovely green hue. It’d be a wonderful ambience, if it weren’t for the enormous basilisk staring at Harry like a piece of prey.

Harry felt like he was about to pass out. He grasped onto Tom’s sleeve tightly, causing the man to look at him smugly.

“No need to fear, Harry. I’ll protect you.”

Harry wanted to say something snarky in return, but found his mouth too dry to speak. When Harry heard Tom start to hiss at the snake, he only barely stopped himself from jumping on the man’s back and urging him to carry him to safety.

“Tom…” Harry whispered warily.

“Do be calm, Harry. Nagini is a sweetheart.”

“…So she doesn’t want to eat me?”

“Everyone wants to eat you, Harry. You’re utterly scrumptious.”

“I’m flattered, but that’s not exactly relieving given the situation…”

Tom continued hissing at the snake, almost as if in argument, before the giant basilisk seemed to give up and lied on the floor, as if in moping

“There,” Tom hummed. “Go on and give her a pet, Harry.”

“Excuse me? Save your thinly veiled assassination attempts for another bloke,” Harry whispered angrily, not wanting to speak loudly enough to rouse the snake.

Tom rolled his eyes, grabbing Harry’s hand in his own and calmly walking over to Nagini. Inside his head, Harry apologized to Luna that he would likely die before being able to attend her wedding.

When Tom set Harry’s hand gently upon Nagini’s huge snout, she huffed and leaned into his palm affectionately.

“Oh,” Harry breathed. “Oh, I mean… She’s kinda cute, huh?”

Tom smirked. “Indeed.” Listening to Nagini’s quiet hisses, he added, “She thinks you’re quite cute as well, Harry.”

Harry blushed. “Oh, um, thanks, Nagini.”

Nagini simply rubbed into his hand more, staying quiet.

“So… this is the Chamber of Secrets?” Harry asked, once his racing heart had calmed down.

“Yes,” Tom nodded. “I constructed it long ago, before even the village. It is where I hid for many years during those horrendous witch hunts. I was of a mind to simply eradicate those loathsome muggles, but Rowena urged me otherwise,” Tom scoffed. “And look where that got her? Burnt on the pyre. Well, the least I could do was respect her dying wishes, so I spent perhaps a century in the Chamber.”

Harry looked around, trying to imagine Tom spending so long a time all alone, surrounded by nothing but stone. And Nagini, he supposed. It was then that Harry was struck by just how important the basilisk was to Tom. She was, after all, his only companion during a period of isolation and darkness.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, suddenly flattered by the amount of honesty Tom was showing him.

“Hm?”

“For showing me her. Nagini, I mean. She means a lot to you, yeah?”

Tom nodded curtly. “The village, although under my rule, is home not to me, but to the people. If there is a place in which I am wholeheartedly at ease, it would be in the chamber with Nagini.” Tom smiled grimly. “That is why, Harry, if it so happens that you kill me in your efforts to bring _salvation_ to the village, I ask of you not to let her starve. She is, after all, blameless.”

Harry bit his lip, a pang of sorrow stabbing through his chest at the idea of killing the man who had shown him such vulnerability. Harry thought back to Dumbledore and knew that his mentor would surely advocate not to let his personal feelings get in the way of what is _right_. But would the slaughter of Tom truly be what is _right?_ The slaughter of Lord Voldemort, perhaps. But of Tom…

“Is that why you ask the guards to bring you a villager from time to time? To feed Nagini?” Harry asked.

Tom tilted his head. “Partly. Nagini is the one who feeds on them, but it is important that I am the one who kills them.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t understand—”

“Perhaps that is enough sharing for one day, yes? Any more, and you will find me boring to converse with.”

Harry doubted he could ever find Tom boring, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Do you like reading?” Tom asked, apropos of nothing.

Harry pursed his lips, slightly annoyed at the change of conversation. It was as if Tom was preventing him from being able to make any decisions regarding his moral character. “I suppose. I’m not quite as wise as my friend Luna is, but I can enjoy a good read from time to time.”

“Good,” Tom smiled, and leading Harry further into the chamber revealed massive bookcases filled with more books than Harry had ever seen in his life.

“Some of these writings are my own, some Rowena’s. And some are simply stories from wizards and muggles alike. I’m sure you can find something to your liking. If you are to be staying in my village for a while, it would be pleasurable to have a nice book to fall back on.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed. “Is it really okay? I mean, I’m sure they’re precious to you.”

Tom waved his hand flippantly. “Books are simply books, Harry, and I’ve already read them all.”

Harry grinned gratefully. “Then I will take you up on your offer. Perhaps you can recommend me some you think I would enjoy?”

Tom, with a smile that was both genuine and mischievous, floated down some books for him to carry in a pile. The two of them said their goodbyes to Nagini before heading back to the village.

Despite the continuous snowfall, Harry felt himself filled with a certain kind of warmth deep within his bones. Well, it was probably just the heating spell.


End file.
